


Steam

by SlothSpaghetti



Series: Sleepless In Stark Towers [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Conflicting Feelings, F/M, Fantasy, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Peter mentioned in the background, Pining, Toxic relationship mentioned, crushing hard, mention of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26948536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothSpaghetti/pseuds/SlothSpaghetti
Summary: Two weeks have gone by and you are still thinking about Tony. This morning, you think about him in the shower.
Relationships: Tony Stark/OFC, Tony Stark/Reader
Series: Sleepless In Stark Towers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965925
Comments: 1
Kudos: 80





	Steam

**Author's Note:**

> Putting it here again, there is mention of self harm, so please read with caution. I said this was gonna get kinda dark, and I wasn't lying.

The long, stained paintbrush clattered into the jar of dirty turpentine. My focus was shot, mind wandering back to the train tracks that were now just too familiar. It had been two weeks of this. I’d try my best to throw myself into my school work, enjoying the two art classes I was taking and managing just fine in my gen ed class, but my lizard brain would hop on the perv express the first chance it could. It wasn’t helping that Nathan wasn’t speaking to me, upset with me because I wasn’t comfortable sexting him and seeking his revenge by posting drunk stories of him making out with another girl over the weekend because he had needs that I wasn’t fulling. 

So what if instead of writing that stupid Civ paper during my two-hour break between classes I had searched for pictures of Tony Stark online? So what if I had a crush on not only a very successful older man but also the best Avenger? So what if I had spent too much time in the shower recently with my fingers between my legs?

I grimaced and checked the digital clock behind my easel. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning. I took off my glasses and scrubbed my face, probably smearing paint across it and getting a bit high off the fumes. It wasn’t right to be thinking about him that way. He probably had some supermodel girlfriend. He was Peter’s fucking mentor! That alone should have made it a No Go Zone. Let’s not even mention that fucked up boyfriend situation. If I could even call him that. 

Station cleaned up, supplies tucked into my cubby hole, and my things tossed into my backpack, I ventured back into the world. But not before I took a progress picture of my latest painting.  _ Another sleepless night and another canvas I’ll probably paint over if I ever sleep again _ , I wrote on the Instagram post. 

I continued to scroll through my feed, liking and commenting on a post from that really amazing charcoal artist Peter had recommended I follow. They were always posting these amazing views and portraits. Whoever they were, they drew some of the best life models I’d ever seen. Or they were traced from a picture. Who knew? It was the internet. 

My key slid clunkily into the lock, despite my caution to not wake my roommates. They were temperamental at the best of times and my sleep schedule, or lack of one, did not vibe well with them. Tiptoeing around, careful to avoid their tripping hazards, I changed into my PJs and grabbed my shower caddy. This early in the morning was the perfect time to use the stalls. No college student was sensibly awake this early. It allowed me the freedom to relax and release some tension, while also getting a steady stream of hot water. 

A deep groan of the old pipes and few moments of waiting (read thinking about Tony) later, I was able to enclose myself in the steam. Glasses were set on the solitary, limescale covered soap tray and my bag and towel hung just outside the plastic curtain. The water was a bit too hot. My skin tingled and flushed under the weak stream of water, but the aches in my body from standing for too many hours eased quickly. I washed and conditioned my hair, tugging out tangles and trying not to think about the amount of hair coming loose from my scalp.

Calming floral scents from my body wash clung to the steam in the shower cubicle. I lathered up the soap and began to run the soft terrycloth material over my heated skin. Splotches of oils paints and charcoal stains were smeared and scrubbed away from my arms. The suds popped across my chest as quickly as they formed. Even though my washrag was soft against my arms and shoulders, it made my sensitive nipples pebble as I washed down my body. I wondered once again if Tony’s hands were soft and gentle or rough and strong. 

That was how it always started, with his hands. Hands that I had seen in person one time. Hands that had moved with swift, controlled accuracy across a glowing keyboard. Hands that I was certain could play me like a fiddle. 

A quiet hiss escaped my lips as I leaned against the cold enamel cinder block tiles and spread my legs as far apart as I could stand. My imagination took over from there, eyes falling closed as thoughts of Tony touching me, caressing my heated, wet skin, cascaded behind my eyelids. This morning, his hands were rough and squeezed me without mercy. A hard pinch to my nipple until there were tears in my eyes, punishing me for something I wasn’t quite sure of. My washcloth was dropped on the floor as my fingers danced across the delicate rolls and stretch marks that marred my stomach to the aching sex between my thick thighs. Slick wetness that I knew wasn’t the soft water of the shower coated my folds. My fingers painted my arousal up and around my clit. 

I set a furious pace, chasing my own orgasm. My breath hitched and a whimper escaped my lips when the combination of flicking a nipple and pressing my fingers just right sent a jolt to my belly and into my shaking thighs. I wanted Tony to see me like this, to see just what he did to me. I wanted his hands to wander around my soft moldable body while his mouth bit and sucked marks along my neck, shoulders, and chest. 

He gave off big dick energy in more ways than one. He would tease me, slide his heavy, hard cock between my dripping folds. His tip would catch on my entrance, but he’d leave me empty until I was begging to be filled. And Lord would I beg for it. A gasped ‘Daddy’ passed my lips when my climax overtook me. Thigh trembling and stomach muscles cramped as my pussy clenched around nothing again. I lingered in the blissed-out, steamy shower for only a few moments. I wouldn’t allow myself to hold too tightly to that feeling. The little blossom of hope my brain tried to create in my post-orgasm haze would only lead to guilt and shame. 

On my limp legs, I squatted to pick up my discarded rag, relishing momentarily in the stretch it produced around my low back. I rinsed it out thoroughly and made a note to do laundry later. It was Tuesday, so I didn’t have class until the evening. I could sleep for a few hours, then get back to work. Before stepping out of the shower, I peeled off the two bandaids on my leg and examined the crisscross of razor-thin cuts. They were still there, wet and bit scabby. That was fine, it was fine, things were better now. I turned the shower off finally and parted the curtain, releasing the steam from my safe confines. 

When I was back in my room, tucked behind the makeshift sheet curtain I had created to have some privacy in this room, I pulled out my phone to look at the messages Peter sent me last Monday. Sure, I would never be good enough for Tony Stark, and my shitty boyfriend was the best I was ever going to be able to get, but I could look at the sneaky pictures of Tony and Happy eating the ‘thank you’ cookies I had baked them at Aunt May’s and feel just a tinge of hope once more. 


End file.
